


I would start a war for you

by lola381pce



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Phil Coulson, BDSM, Brief appearance by Maria Hill, Cherished Clint Barton, Cherished Sub, Dom Phil Coulson, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov, Non-Consensual Hand-job, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-con Handjob, Protective Dom, Protective Phil Coulson, Punishment, Sub Clint Barton, dom Daniel Whitehall, sub Sunil Backshi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many a vicious killer had found eternal damnation in his eyes while, for more than one lover, it was a fleeting ecstasy to which they eagerly abandoned themselves. The intensity of his gaze was such that once he fixed his eyes on you, he claimed you; every bit of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags.
> 
> In BDSM the principle of safe, sane and consensual (SSC) is important for all parties. Control is a necessity for a Dom/me; he or she should never lose control and to wilfully abuse a sub is unacceptable.
> 
> In this story however, one of the doms, Whitehall, is a psychopath with extreme antisocial attitudes and a complete lack of conscience; he is also an aggressive dominant who enjoys inflicting pain. Although his submissive is a masochist who achieves sexual pleasure from pain in their scenes, the line between dom and abuser is blurred with the line being crossed at the start of chapter three - the brutality is implied not graphically described. The non-consensual touching of the abducted Sub in chapters two and three is set out in detail along with his fear, so please be warned.
> 
> The other Dom/Sub pairing have been in a stable SSC relationship for years.

The man sitting at the bar looking comfortable and relaxed in his immaculate pale grey suit could feel someone’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. No, not someone. A Dom. In reality he was fighting very hard to maintain his composure as he sipped his drink. It was only months of training by his own master that enabled the sub to keep his outward appearance intact. In an effort not to react, he bit the inside of his lip until he could taste the iron tang of blood. He had no doubt this Dom was the one he was here to meet and apparently nothing he had found in his research had been exaggerated. Even from across a crowded room without sighting him, he was...impressive.

Moments later he felt the same presence but stronger, _oh god so much stronger_ , by his shoulder. There were no introductions, none were needed. Each knew who the other was and they weren’t here for pleasantries. It cost him every ounce of willpower he had not to melt as the Dom spoke with quiet yet unmistakable authority, "Your master has something that belongs to me. I want it back."

The sub closed his eyes, barely suppressing a shiver as the sound of the Dom’s voice flowed over him. He took another swallow of his scotch while he wrestled the impulse to drop to his knees and submit to this man.

"My master disputes that, Sir. There was no collar. There was no mark." Although he was trembling inside, his voice appeared to be normal; at least it barely wavered for which he was truly grateful.

"Nevertheless."

“He will demand evidence of your ownership.”

“Will he now?” The Dom sounded amused rather than angry. He appeared in no way intimidated by his master’s reputation, even thought it was one that was well deserved; he could be cruel and barbaric in equal measure to get what he wanted or to fulfill his thirst for knowledge. He’d seen footage of him performing hideous experiments on subjects all because of a notion that “Discovery requires experimentation.” One memorable piece of footage showed him performing vivisection on a woman just to find out what made her so special. The sub had found it to be both sickening and exciting.

But then there were many interesting rumours in circulation about this Dom; an outstanding tactician, Hydra suspected him of masterminding several ruthless and financially painful operations against them including at least one against his master’s research facilities. The sub surmised it was the main reason why his master had decided to keep the Dom’s property when he discovered who he belonged to in the first place. That and to find out how far the Dom was willing to go to get him back. Apparently this was not the first time he’d gone looking for an abducted member of his team and the punishment that had been meted out had been swift and brutal. For some time now it had effectively put an end to hostage taking of his operatives by most people. However the leader of Hydra America was not “most people”...

The sub knew he was important to his master; he was his confidant on business matters, his representative in delicate negotiations such as this, his second in command for all Hydra issues. And as a sub, he made sure his servicing of his dom was irreproachable but he knew his master would never come for him like this - he would view it as a weakness. There was no doubt he would be inconvenienced until another sub was sufficiently trained to serve and he may send a few of his personal Hydra agents out to search for him however if they didn’t find him or if he’d been taken for ransom, there would be no negotiation for his return. If they found his body there would be retribution but only because his property had been taken from him. He sighed quietly.

"He must mean a great deal to you," the sub murmured and at once regretted his presumption. He tensed waiting for the blow to land. God knows hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

"That is of no consequence. Something of mine has been taken and I mean for it to be returned."

There was heat in the Dom’s words which sparked curiosity in the sub and on impulse he turned his head to look at him against all instructions; no spoken names, no viewed faces. The sub gasped. The Dom looked every bit as breathtaking as his file suggested. Dressed in an expensive charcoal grey suit complemented by a pale grey silk tie and finished off with a scarlet scarf made of the softest cashmere nestling inside a wool overcoat which matched the elegant suit exactly, he was Alpha pure and simple.

Apparently it was not enough to be captivated by the Dom’s presence or appearance, the sub became mesmerised by the blue eyes that stared so intently into his own and felt an overpowering urge to serve him. He slid from the seat and began to fall to his knees with no consideration of the consequences.

The Dom grabbed the crook of his elbow preventing the act of submission from being completed. The action released a waft of smell, an intoxicating mix of expensive cologne and his own natural scent. It was almost too much for the sub.

"No. Sit." the Dom commanded in a low voice that was meant to be obeyed.

The sub immediately complied keeping his eyes lowered, desperately wanting to please this man. He desired nothing more than to surrender to him, to be fucked by him, to be wrung out and thoroughly used by him. As he kept his head bowed, he caught sight of the Dom’s elegant hands and wondered what it would be like to be flogged by him and then to have him run those same hands over his body gently wiping away the blood, stroking the welts. He couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped his lips as he pictured the scene. He was hard in his dress pants and he could feel his underwear becoming damp from his leaking cock. His master would punish him when he returned and although he knew it would be excruciating, he found he didn’t care. The memories of this meeting would see him through it.

“Is he unharmed?”

His envy of the Sub that belonged to this man suddenly became boundless. The way he asked the question, he knew this was a Dominant who cared about his Submissives, who probably took time and effort to train them to be perfect, who praised as well as punished and who undoubtedly received enjoyment from their pleasure and who gave aftercare with love not as a meaningless necessity. It was something he rarely experienced. He was a sub to be used not a Sub to be cherished.

“He is…alive, Sir.”

“That was not my question.” He had never released the sub’s arm and now the Dom’s grip tightened enough to make him wince. It was both painful and glorious.

“May I?” The sub’s voice was strained as he tried to hold it together but the close physical proximity of the Dom, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, and his firm grasp were making it difficult.

The Dom nodded and he reached into his pocket to remove his cell phone. He scrolled through the icons until he arrived at the camera function. Clicking on it he scrolled again until he came to an image of a man bound to a chair beaten, bruised and naked but glaring defiantly at the camera.

“I don’t believe any of the injuries are permanent,” the sub clarified as the Dom stared impassively at the photo, seemingly taking stock but not overly concerned at what he saw. Those elegant fingers that the sub had fantasised about not moments before told a different story as they dug painfully into his flesh through his suit; he would be bruised by the time he returned to his master. He risked another glance at the man standing beside him and was forced once again to breathe in sharply at what he saw. There was no change to his facial expression but his eyes burned and raged; it was as terrifying as it was arousing.

“Where is he?” the Dom asked quietly and calmly which only added to the sub’s fear and set his dick throbbing harder. He couldn’t help but imagine being taken apart by this man’s hands and mouth and cock.

He closed his eyes trying to regain control and after a moment said, “I’m sorry, Sir. That’s one piece of information I cannot give you.”

“What makes your master think I won’t take it from you,” the Dom growled. His voice was filled with the promise of pain and the menacing way he said “take it from you” finally made the sub lose control and shiver.

The Dom’s muscles were bunched in a tight knot as he clenched his jaws together trying to control whatever emotions he was feeling and it was unbearably arousing. If the sub hadn’t been trained to come on command he would have let go in his underwear there and then. As it was he let out the smallest of moans before replying with a tremble to his voice.

“I fear you overestimate my value to my master. He would kill me for even considering such a betrayal. And please believe me when I say I'd be begging for death long before it actually came."

"Then start thinking about what you mean to plead for because if he is harmed any further I’ll come for you next and I won't be nearly so kind. Make the arrangements." And with that, he let go of the sub and departed with more than a dozen pairs of eyes following him. He may not have been a large man but his Dominance radiated from him in waves washing over the entire bar and the effect was not lost on anyone in the room especially the beautiful redhead in the black cocktail dress sitting nearby.

She too followed the Dom with her eyes making her attraction plain to see. Although she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself just yet it would have been conspicuous if she hadn’t at least watched him leave. As he disappeared through the door she heard a familiar voice in her ear, “He’s all yours.” and with an almost imperceptible change to her expression she closed in on her mark; the sub the man had just left.

 

***

 

“Oh wow! I’m so sorry. I was…” The redhead gathered up a handful of napkins from the bar and began to dab furiously at his arm where she'd clumsily spilled her drink. He caught her hands and pushed them away impatiently.

“Distracted?” the sub finished for her brushing the drops from his suit. He sighed heavily looking at the stains spreading across his sleeve. The pre-come which was sticky on his cock, the almost certain bruising to his arm and now a third reason for punishment. A feeling of dread settled heavily on him.

She ducked her head and peered up at him through her eyelashes giving him a quick grin. “How could I not be? He's a beautiful Dom. You shouldn't keep him waiting...unless, of course, it's part of your scene?"

The sub shook his head regretfully. "I'm not his but you're right, I must be going." He picked up his glass and threw back his head downing the remainder of the scotch in one deep gulp which made his eyes water. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have bothered but tonight he needed the courage it might bring. If he could have managed he would have had another and another after that but it was time to return to his master. He stood up from his seat to leave giving the redhead a watery smile.

As he walked away she called after him. "Oh it's club soda by the way. My Domina doesn't like me to drink when we’re out."

The sub closed his eyes in relief. At least that was something in his favour.

A few seconds after he left the redhead murmured “It’s done,” before a stunning brunette wearing understated blue silk dress entered the room. Heads once again turned and eyes followed her progress across the bar. The redhead immediately stood and bowed her head, her right hand holding her left wrist behind her back as her Domina drew closer. The brunette touched her hand lightly to her Sub’s cheekbone brushing her fingertips across it. She leaned in for a soft kiss her lips ghosting against the other’s.

“So beautiful,” the Domina purred making her Sub sigh with pleasure. “Shall we go, sweetheart.”

“Mistress,” her sub acknowledged before picking up her purse and vacating the bar with the other woman to disappear into the street outside. All trace of friendliness had gone from their faces and all that was left was determination; these were women who meant business and nothing would save the person who got in their way.


	2. possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For trigger warnings in chapter two, please see end notes of this chapter.

Whitehall sat in a chair opposite Clint and stared at him like he was a prized possession. In his head he smiled as that’s exactly what the Sub was to him. He wanted to play with him, hard and rough - make him scream, and soon he would but he wanted the Sub’s Dom to watch as he fucked him, marked him and made him his. And then he wanted his new toy to watch as he took his Dom’s life slowly and painfully. He could feel his cock getting hard at the thought of it.

“You’ll wear your fucking eyes out.” The voice sounded bored.

That wouldn't do; that wouldn't do at all! Whitehall's expression didn’t waver but inside his head, he roared with anger.

“You’re a mouthy Sub. I don’t like that particularly.” His voice was icy but quiet. Clint noted that was something his Dom and this psycho had in common; a quiet calm when really they were raging inside. Thankfully it was the only thing. He hoped someone would come for him soon coz this staring shit was beginning to get real old.

“Good fucking job I’m not yours then.”

The dom allowed himself a small outward smile. He was going to enjoy breaking this one. Or killing him. Whichever happened first.

The sight of that smirk never reaching the Hydra leader's dead eyes was the very first time Clint felt fear since he'd been captured. He’d been abducted and tortured before but Whitehall, both from his reputation and demeanour, could apparently make it excruciating and make it last. Neither prospect filled him with joy.

The door to his cell opened. A man entered closing it behind him and waited. It was a full five minutes before the dom spoke a single word.

“Kneel.”

The sub walked swiftly across to his dom’s chair and dropped to his knees beside him bowing his head.

It was another five minutes before he spoke again. The silence in between was deafening.

“You stink of him,” Whitehall growled. The sub shivered with anticipation at his tone. His meeting earlier had left him particularly sensitive and needy. He didn’t speak knowing he wasn’t required to as yet.

“Did you come for him?”

“No, Sir.” The sub closed his eyes. He knew his master would smell of the pre-come from earlier. He would have picked up the scent when he entered the room.

“But you wanted to?”

There was no sense in denying it...he would know. “Yes, Sir.”

"Did you want to go to you knees for him?"

His mouth went dry; this was dangerous territory. "Yes Sir."

"Did you want to take his cock in your mouth and suck him dry?"

"Yes Sir," he whispered; he was so fucked.

The dom didn’t move, didn’t speak, just continued to stare at the man bound to the seat in front of him who tried not to fidget under the unblinking gaze. Then suddenly, with more speed and ferocity than Clint would have believed had he not actually seen it, Whitehall twisted round in his chair and backhanded his sub in the face knocking him halfway across the room. Clint winced at the loud crack when his hand made contact with the other's cheekbone. He was honestly surprised when the sub slowly moved then dragged himself to his knees to crawl back to his master’s side. Blood poured from the cut that had opened near his eye. He was even more surprised when he noticed the sub's raging hard on. 

“Tell me.”

“He will meet with you to discuss terms.”

Clint maintained his bored air with some difficulty. He couldn’t afford to let slip that "meet and discuss terms" was code for "Fuck you, bitch! I'm coming for what's mine!"...Coulson was coming for him.

At his sub’s words Whitehall gave single nod as though he expected no less.

“Arrange it, then go to the cross and strip. Have someone to tether you to it while I decide how I’m going to punish you.”

The sub stood up, getting to his feet gradually as a wave of dizziness from the blow threatened to overwhelm him. He swayed for a moment until he regained his balance then headed for the door. They both enjoyed the cross. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Boy?” The sub paused. “Do not prep. Do not use a plug.”

“Yes Sir,” he acknowledged, the thrill and fear building in his gut in equal measure.

***

Once again Clint was left alone with a psycho nut-job in the room which was not a particularly comforting thought. He hadn’t as yet experienced any physical pain from the dom, just the psychological discomfort of being stared at for long periods of time. But after witnessing the backhand to the sub’s head, Clint was pretty certain he didn’t want to add the experience to his bucket list. 

However right now he had other things to be thinking about...like his half-hard dick which had started to show an interest when Whitehall put the image of Coulson and a blowjob in his mind. Ah fuck! He did _not_ need the thought of this Dom’s perfect cock in his head right now. He was trying to wilt his hard-on not make it grow. Perhaps if the gods were on his side the dom wouldn’t notice.

“I see you like the thought of my sub pleasuring your Dom.”

Well shit! Who fucking needs gods anyway? Clint rolled his eyes. “Not particularly.”

Actually the idea sickened him. It was the thought that he would soon see his Dom that was making him hard - that and the thought that this asswipe had no idea. Ah dick, no! he thought as it stirred again. Epic fail in the dick wilting department.

The dom smiled benevolently as he raised himself from his chair and walked slowly towards the Sub. “Your cock says otherwise.”

“My cock would get turned on by a house fire.” Clint snorted trying not to flinch as Whitehall stood directly behind him just outside his peripheral vision. It was disconcerting for him to be there.

The dom leaned in and growled “Really?” in his ear.

Hating himself for it, the Sub shivered uncontrollably. The timbre of Whitehall's voice was exactly right and his dick shot up to attention. No! Fuck no! he screamed in his head.

“Not such a smart mouth now, boy” and with that the dom reached over and took the Clint’s cock in his hand giving him a squeeze and stroking him roughly. The Sub jerked trying to pull away but Whitehall had him in a firm grip and he was only going to succeed in hurting himself if he continued to struggle.

The dom grabbed a handful of the Clint’s hair yanking his head back so that his face was turned upwards and pressed his lips viscously over the Sub’s forcing his tongue into his mouth in a wet, messy kiss. If this had been his own Dom, Clint would have been ecstatic but this was a show of possession with no tenderness and no love leaving him feeling nothing but disgust.

“I’m going to savour breaking you, boy But for now I have another whore to deal with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a brief description of physical abuse, non-consensual touching and kissing.


	3. deliverance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings are as per chapter two

They had taken Clint's hearing aids when he first arrived but Whitehall had called them barbarians and had them returned...apparently he had a pretty fucked up sense of right and wrong. The silence that remained since the Hydra doctor had left to "...deal with his whore" was punctuated every so often by a piercing scream which made him believe kindness hadn't really been a factor. As time wore on the cries became weaker, lessening until he heard nothing at all. He desperately tried not to picture what was happening.

Eventually the door to his cell opened and his gut twisted at the sight of the dom as he entered; his previously immaculate appearance had vanished and in its place was evidence of his unbalanced mind. At some point in the proceedings with his sub he had removed his jacket and tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves in a precise fashion but now his hair was mussed up while his face, neck and forearms were damp with sweat. The flecks of blood that had splashed across him stood out in sharp contrast against his skin and the crisp whiteness of his dress shirt. The blood had also spattered across the vest and pants of his suit.

Worse still Clint could also see the arousal in the dom’s eyes, his bulging crotch and his breath coming in short excited gasps. Fuck! He didn't think he'd ever been so afraid and he'd been through some scary shit. Even being captured, stripped and tortured had never made him feel so vulnerable. The bloodlust in the Hydra doctor’s eyes was truly terrifying and he ties binding him to the seat dug viciously into his skin as he tried to wrench his arms free.

“I prefer that look,” Whitehall rasped, his voice low and husky. Normally it was the type of voice that would do great things for Clint’s libido but right now all he wanted to do was get the fuck out of this room.

“I prefer the fear in your eyes.” Whitehall licked his lips as he slowly made his way behind Clint. Once again he reached round grasping hold of the Sub’s shaft beginning to stroke it roughly. Clint bucked in the seat but no matter how hard he tried to pull away, he remained tethered by the unrelenting plastic. The dom gripped the back of his neck with his free hand and continued to pump him with the other.

“No! Fuck you!” Clint snarled through gritted teeth still trying to get away from the hand sliding up and down the length of his swollen cock. Whitehall let go of his neck momentarily and he could hear the dom unfastening his belt and pulling down his zipper as he continued to speak.

“Ohhhh! That’s it, struggle. My sub used to be afraid like this. But any whore can be trained and now he can’t get enough. He’s usually such a good sub for me but he’s lusted after your Dom and I don’t like that. He had to be punished and this, _this_ is his punishment; leaving him bloody and raw desperate to come, begging for my cock to be in him when he knows I’m through here with you.”

As he tried to resist, Whitehall squeezed the back of the Clint’s neck again, effectively paralysing him. His muscles were so tense the Sub thought, no prayed, he’d go into spasm. The pain would take his mind off what was happening.

“Oh this is much better. You’re going to be such a good slut for me. Take everything I give you then beg for more. Oh I'm going to enjoy fucking you, making you scream."

Clint desperately wanted to get away from the dom’s cruel hands but he couldn’t. Between being held still and the plastic ties binding him to the seat he was immobilised until Whitehall was finished. He felt tears prick at this eyes and hurriedly blinked them back. He didn’t want the dom to know how much this was hurting him.

“Dr Whitehall? You have something that belongs to me. Now get your hand off his cock before I shoot you in the face.”

Both Whitehall’s and Clint's heads snapped up at the same time and each had a similar look of disbelief on their face at Coulson’s figure in the doorway. It would have been comical if the situation hadn't been so fucked up.

Clint's expression swiftly turned to one of relief however. Oh thank you sweet baby Jesus and all the little animals. Thank you. The Sub had never been more pleased to hear his Dom’s voice. Yeah, if that wasn't a Hulk-sized understatement. And fuck he looked amazing!

To his credit, Whitehall accepted Coulson’s unexpected appearance with remarkable composure. "Ah Mr Coulson...how nice to finally meet you. You realise I could snap his neck before you pull the trigger."

Coulson didn't bother to respond merely raising an eyebrow and flicking the muzzle of the gun to the side indicating Whitehall should move away from his Sub.

Whitehall stared at Coulson and seeing neither fear nor trepidation considered his options; let go of his new toy's neck and cock to comply with the unwelcome order he’d been given or kill the Sub where he sat.

Coulson was considering his own options at the same time and, unfortunately for Whitehall, decided caution was the better part of valour as he pulled the trigger. Whitehall’s brain didn’t have time to register the ear-splitting explosion of Coulson’s Glock 17 being fired as he flew backwards into the wall before slumping to the floor with a bullet to the head.

The redhead from the bar appeared at Coulson’s shoulder. “I thought Fury said to bring him in alive?”

“Oops?” Coulson holstered his pistol and immediately headed for Clint.

Natasha rolled her eyes and walked towards to the fallen Hydra leader to make sure he was truly dead, or at least incapacitated (who knew with Hydra). “Hey, маленькая птица!” she called to Clint.

"Yeah, yeah! Ding Dong the psycho’s dead! How about you get me the fuck outta here."

Seeing him tug painfully at the restraints as he neared him and noting the panicked look in his eyes, the Dom realised how agitated his Sub actually was. He leaned in placing his forehead against his Clint's and tenderly laid his hand on the back of his neck.

"Shh. Be still" he commanded. His voice was deliberately pitched low and Clint immediately found comfort from both the familiar tone and the gentle touch of his Dom’s hand. "Good boy."

Geting them all free and clear remained his priority but his Sub required reassurance right now and Coulson would make damn sure he received it. He kept them in that position for a few moments as he took Clint through his plan, keeping his voice calm as he did so.

"We’ve done this before. It’s going to hurt but I need to get the circulation back into your arms and legs. I’m going to cut the bindings around your wrists first. You’ve already done so well, my Little Hawkeye. I just need you to be strong a little longer."

He’d held up against all Whitehall’s bullshit for however long he’d been here, the façade only cracking towards the end when his hands were on him; damn zippy he could keep it together for Coulson. Clint nuzzled into his Dom’s neck inhaling his scent deep into his lungs further grounding him. He nodded.

Using his free hand Coulson removed a switchblade from his coat pocket and carefully sliced through the plastic cable ties. He held back a wince when he saw how deeply they'd dug into Clint’s wrists, scraping the skin raw and causing considerable bruising. He was beginning to regret killing Whitehall quite so quickly.

"Good boy," he said again as he put the blade back in his pocket and let go of his Sub’s neck. He took Clint’s left hand between both of his and rubbed it carefully but firmly to get the blood flowing once more.

"Such a good boy for me," he murmured. His calmness and quiet dominance were slowly beginning to have a soothing effect on Clint. Coulson could feel the tension start to drop away from his Sub as he gently massaged one hand and arm before moving to the other when he could feel warmth return to Clint's fingers.

Satisfied that both Clint’s hands were much improved, Coulson straightened up. However it meant breaking contact with Clint causing him to release a small whimper. Coulson stood and quickly shrugged off his coat draping around Clint’s shoulders to keep him warm before crouching down to cut away the bindings around his ankles.

Kneeling was not a Dom's natural position but Coulson had no qualms about such issues and knelt in front of Clint. He lifted his Sub's right foot to place it in his lap where he gently began to rub it, working his way up the leg in steady, methodical strokes to get the blood circulating. His Sub had most likely been sitting like this for hours and if he was to stand now he would most likely cramp-up and collapse. As he continued to rub Clint’s leg the Dom constantly praised him telling him in a soft voice how proud he was of him.

Clint’s head dropped forward and he sighed, not quite with contentment but with something akin to happiness as much as his surroundings allowed. The Sub always knew he would give his life in an instant for his Dom but he’d never been so overjoyed to belong to this man as he took care of him here in the in his cell where they could be caught at any time. It was almost fucking romantic!

“How do you feel, Clint?” Coulson asked gently finishing with his left leg. He placed it back on the ground and stretched up to rest his hand on the back of Clint’s neck again.

“M good, Sir,” he replied. And he was. He was still suffering from mild discomfort with his physical injuries but knowing he was safe and being cared for by his Dom was helping to centre him.

“That’s good, Clint. You’ve been so good for me.”

Materialising at their side, Natasha dropped a tightly rolled t-shirt and pants at Clint’s feet. “This is all very romantic, boys,” she commented wryly, “but maybe it’s time we left before someone with a half a brain realises we're here and thinks to look for Whitehall.”

She stood by Clint’s shoulder as he pulled on the clothing and attempted to stand holding onto his Dom’s arm. Although it was still painful the preparation Coulson had done made it easier for him to move and with Coulson’s and Natasha’s help Clint was able to get the fuck out of there without looking back.


	4. aftercare

Natasha’s phone buzzed – a text from Coulson advising he was on his way. She uncurled herself from Clint and ran her fingers through his hair to gently wake him. He grumbled and tried to bury his head deeper into the pillow.

“Nuh-uh, маленькая птица,” she chided affectionately while pinching his ear. “He’s coming home. You asked me to wake you so you could be ready for him.”

His response was a muffled groan as he pushed his head further still into the pillow.

“He wouldn’t mind you know,” she added stroking his hair knowing Clint was still tired and sore. Ordinarily Coulson would expect his Sub to be waiting for him but the last thirty plus hours had been anything but ordinary. Now his main concern would be that Clint was well-rested and feeling better before requiring anything of him.

Clint rolled over onto his back wincing slightly at the painful bruising to his torso and the tightness of muscles across his shoulders and arms.

“I know," he acknowledged with a tired smile, "but I want to be my best for him. Will you help me, Tasha?”

“Of course, silly boy.” She left the bed to fetch Clint’s collar. It was beautifully crafted, made of supple, deep purple leather and had a customised ring in the shape of an arrow bent into a circle, the point curling round until it met the fletching. He may not have worn it when he was on the job but he always wore it when he was at home or out with Phil for the evening. He hadn’t put it on immediately upon his return to give his neck a chance to recover even if just for a few hours.

Before they’d left the Hydra facility, Natasha had a S.H.I.E.L.D. medic treat the worst of Clint’s injuries as per Coulson’s instructions. He hadn’t needed many stitches other than where his tracker had been removed. His wounds were mostly superficial including the multitude of bruises starting to bloom across his body but any patching up that was needed was expertly done.

When they’d made it to Coulson’s apartment, Natasha made sure Clint showered and had something light to eat with plenty fluids then put him to bed slipping in beside him to comfort him until Coulson’s return. It was familiar pattern for the three of them.

Clint sat on the edge of the bed while Natasha fastened the collar around his neck. It was perfect. She hugged him gently from behind wrapping her arms across his chest, her breasts crushed against his back.

“Do I look okay?”

“Better than okay; you even have bruises that match your collar.”

The Sub huffed and she laughed mussing up his hair to annoy him. He twisted round and threw her to the bed in a mock fight and then flinched as he felt some of the already tight muscles pull.

“Is it bad?”

“Nah…I’ve had worse but it twinges a bit.”

“Maybe you should stop acting like an asshat and more like a devoted Sub,” she told him the flash of a smile. Natasha’s smiles could be devastating making a grown man cry but when she was being genuinely affectionate it was almost as heart-warming to Clint as a smile from Coulson.

“I don’t need to _act_ like a devoted Sub at all," Clint grouched pretending to be hurt at her suggestion.

“I know, маленькая птица” she told him before slipping off the bed heading towards the door. "He’ll be here soon.”

“Night, Tasha. Thanks.”

“Goodnight.”

As she made her way to her own bedroom, Coulson opened the door to the apartment. Natasha walked towards him greeting him with a soft kiss. She could feel the cool night air on him as she touched her hand to his face and held herself against him.

“Careful,” he warned, “my hands are cold.”

At that she took his arms and wrapped them round her ignoring the goosebumps that broke out as his chilly hands touched her warm skin. He smiled and held her in an embrace.

“So rebellious,” Coulson muttered into her hair.

“Just the way you love me.” The corner of Natasha’s mouth quirked up as she felt him smile at her words. Natasha was no-one’s sub and no-one’s dom either unless it was required by her cover. She lived with the two men because she trusted them and because she enjoyed the intimacy she had with them. She could curl up naked with either or both knowing they wouldn’t touch her unless she wanted it. Sex was just another weapon in her armoury and rarely gave her pleasure, especially with men, but when she did want to feel a man’s body against hers they were here for her.

“How is he?” he asked eventually. The fearful side of him, if there was such a thing, was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Resting her head on his shoulder she gave Coulson a rundown of what had happened since they separated at Hydra’s facility. He was grateful that Natasha had seen to his Sub’s needs and made him comfortable when he was unable to. There were very few people he trusted in this world, actually he could probably count them on one hand two at most, but Natasha Romanova - assassin, spy and mischief maker - was most definitely one of them.

“Thank you for taking such good care of him, мой мятежный один,” he told her genuinely grateful.

He touched his fingers to her face stroking the cheekbone with his thumb and returned the kiss she had given him earlier. "Get some sleep, Tasha. We have a few days furlough so enjoy a long lie."

"Fury agreed? Even after you shot Whitehall? You _are_ a silver-tongued devil!"

Coulson huffed out a small laugh.

As she reached her bedroom, Natasha paused at the door then turned to Coulson and said, "A word of advice?"

He raised a querying eyebrow.

"Don’t shower tonight. He needs you to smell like you as much as possible. Whitehall really did a number on him psychologically. If we hadn’t turned up when we did…"

She let the rest of the sentence hang. Coulson knew exactly what she meant without having it spelled out for him. He nodded in acknowledgement of her words and acceptance of her recommendation.

 

***

 

Coulson opened the door to his bedroom and his heart soared at the sight before him. Clint was naked and kneeling on his cushion at Coulson’s side of the bed. His head was bowed and his hands were behind his back - he imagined the fingers of his Sub's left hand curled round his right wrist. Coulson could feel himself getting hard as he looked at Clint waiting for him, perfect in his submissive pose. He wanted to tell his Sub that he needn’t have gone into position for him like this; he was injured and he wasn’t expecting it. However it would have belittled his efforts and he would never put Clint down like that.

“Oh my beautiful boy,” Coulson breathed; Clint didn't move. The Dom reigned in the impulse to hurry over to his Sub and pull him into his arms. Instead he took his time and shrugged off his coat and suit jacket placing them carefully over his the chair. He toed off his shoes and removed his socks before slowly crossing the room to his Sub. As he stood over Clunt he narrowed his eyes taking in the bruising to the back of his shoulders and arms and the bandages binding his wrists: he breathed slowly swallowing down his anger. When he was calm again he spoke to his Sub and reached out to touch him.

"It means so much to see you like this," he told him softly, running the fingers of one hand through Clint’s hair while the other rested gently against the nape of his neck.

"You came for me," Clint replied simply, resting his forehead against the solid muscles of his Dom’s stomach.

Coulson tucked his fingers under Clint’s chin turning his face up towards him.

"I would never leave you behind. Never," he told him, his voice full of emotion. Clint’s heart wanted to burst as he looked up to his Dom’s eyes and saw the tenderness in them.

"I know," his sub acknowledged. "But this time it was different. This time was…" He trailed off as the memory of Whitehall attempting to force himself on him flooded his head.

"Talk to me, Clint." Coulson kept the concern out of his tone while trying not to make it sound like a command. He wasn’t giving his Sub an order, merely giving him the opportunity to talk if he wished to do so. He gave the back of his Sub’s neck a light squeeze in encouragement.

Clint stayed silent for a few moments. He was an expert at keeping his feelings and reactions under control with everyone but Coulson. No matter what, he always seemed to be able to read through the blatant disregard for any kind of authority (present company excepted) and the constant stream of chatter with snarky rejoinders that other handlers couldn’t get past. He knew when something was troubling Clint; he always had even before he became his Dom.

"Do I have to?" he whispered dropping his head again pressing his brow against the jut of Coulson’s hip. He'd never pulled away from his Dom before but he didn't want to see the tenderness change to sympathy, or worse still, disgust. His breath hitched in his throat.

Coulson closed his eyes holding back the rage he felt at Whitehall and at himself. He was the one who had approved the mission for his Sub to be taken by Hydra in the belief that S.H.I.E.L.D. would trace him and find the facility. But they’d removed Clint’s tracker within minutes of taking him apparently with the knowledge that he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

"No, sweetheart. Not right now." Even knowing he shouldn't treat Clint differently to any other agent, the debrief could wait. He paused for a few moments waiting until Clint’s breathing became less desperate and then in a low voice said, "Tell me what you want tonight."

Clint shivered at his Dom’s words and, more importantly, the way he spoke them. Gone was the unflappable, competent Senior Agent replaced by the powerful and skilled Dom, his voice full of promise. Without conscious thought, the Sub’s raised his hands to grasp the backs of Coulson’s thighs where his fingers began to knead the muscles. His face turned from away from his Dom’s hip to his crotch where he nuzzled against his steadily hardening cock.

The questions Whitehall interrogated his sub with came back to him: Did you come for him? Did you want to go on your knees for him? Did you want to take him in your mouth and suck him dry? That was everything Clint wanted right now. To take Coulson’s cock in his mouth and have him come down his throat. He moaned at the thought.

"Talk to me,” he said again. This time it was a definite command. “Tell me what you need."

“You, my Dom,” Clint groaned pressing his face against him breathing in his arousal. Coulson’s hands continued to card through his hair.

“Do you want me to fuck your throat, boy?” Coulson growled.

The Sub’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Yes, Sir,” he croaked as though he’d already been fucked raw.

“Do you want to take me deep, choke on me?”

The Sub shuddered pressing dents into his Dom’s legs. “Please, Sir,”

“Then do it,” he ordered, his voice rough almost dripping with sex. It went straight to Clint’s dick making it twitch and throb against his stomach.

Clint wasted no more time and released his grip on Coulson’s legs to unfasten his belt buckle. He could barely control the trembling of his hands. He pulled the belt from the loops of his dress pants and dropped it beside him on the floor. There were occasions when the belt would become part of their scene raising hot welts on his skin that his Dom would sooth with the soft touch of his lips and fingers. But not tonight. He knew his Dom would have no wish to add to his bruises tonight.

As Clint worked from below, Coulson set about removing his tie (another often used prop), dropping it on the floor before unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt to bare his throat and a tantalising amount of chest hair. With practiced fingers he followed this with the buttons to his cuffs.

Trying not to get distracted, the Sub undid the fastening of Coulson’s suit pants and carefully pulled down the zipper easing them open, guiding them over his Dom's hips. He tugged them down Coulson’s quite frankly fucking gorgeous thighs to his knees and pressed his face against his half-hard dick mouthing him through his briefs. Coulson groaned and rolled his hips encouraging his Sub to continue. He sucked a damp patch into the cotton enjoying the occasional noises of pleasure his Dom was making before he carefully reached in and freed Coulson’s beautiful cock. It was hot and heavy in his hand and he couldn’t wait to get his lips around it.

Not willing to give up his prize, Clint pulled the briefs down one-handed. Holding his Dom reverently near the root, he licked a stripe up his length marvelling once again at the way it thickened and filled out before him. Coulson gasped and jerked as his Sub closed his warm, wet mouth around the head of his cock savouring the taste and texture. He didn’t take all of him just bobbed back and forth over the tip, licking the slit and rolling his tongue round the head pulling another sharp intake of breath from his Dom. He flicked his eyes up at Coulson who had closed his own and stood with a half-smile on his lips as he absently stroked his Sub’s head obviously enjoying his talented mouth.

Slowly, a bit at a time, Clint sucked in more of Coulson’s dick trailing his tongue back and forth over the vein of his shaft, curling over and around the head, pausing now and again to capture the pre-come leaking steadily from the slit humming with pleasure as it gathered on his tongue and his lips. He pulled himself up on his knees while pushing against the balls of his feet to give him better access to Coulson’s cock. He relaxed his throat to take him down deeper and was rewarded with a filthy drawn out moan that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

Coulson dragged his nails along Clint’s scalp then fisted his hair in both his hands before pulling out to thrust back in again. He moved slowly at first to let Clint get used to the size and feel of him building up to a steady pace as he fucked his Sub’s face.

Clint revelled in it knowing he could come from this alone as his own rigid dick nudged against his belly leaving strings of pre-come glistening on the golden hair. He worked Coulson just as hard hollowing his cheeks as he sucked and swallowed him all the way down, the head of Phil’s cock rubbing against the back of Clint’s throat, his shaft gliding along the flat of his tongue coated in spit and pre-come. His hands grasped Coulson’s ass cheeks pulling him in as he thrust forward. They moved as one each wringing the most from the other creating perfect, mind-blowing pleasure.

Eventually Coulson grunted, his right hand dropping to Clint’s shoulder squeezing it gently to signal he was about to come. Clint sucked harder looking up at Coulson watching his nostrils flair and the muscles of his jaws tighten before he threw his head back and cried out his hips bucking and body shaking as the orgasm tore through him. Clint swallowed every drop registering the change from salty pre-come to the bitter tang of semen as his Dom exploded down this throat.

Gradually Coulson’s hips ceased in their movement and Clint pulled back releasing his Dom’s softening cock from his mouth to lick it clean. He looked up to see Coulson gazing down at him with a gentle smile playing on his lips as his breathing came back to normal and the aftershocks eased. His face and neck were flushed and a bead of sweat ran from his temple towards his jawline before trickling down his neck to disappear behind the open collar of his shirt. Clint’s own cock, dripping with pre-come, throbbed with a desperate need to be touched, for the pressure that was building up to be released but he ignored it; it wasn’t his hand he wanted on it to pull the orgasm from him.

He bowed his head again. “Did I please you, my Dom?” the Sub asked hoarsely, his throat raw.

“Always. Stand for me.” His Dom sounded wrung out but there was no mistaking the command no matter how gently it was given.

Even though he’d been on his knees for a time, Clint stood without difficulty, his powerful legs taking the strain with ease as he pushed himself upright. The height difference between the two men was negligible and Clint gazed with pleasure at his Dom’s thoroughly fucked appearance.

Coulson’s hands bracketed Clint’s face, his thumbs brushing against the cheekbones as he scrutinised his Sub’s appearance; from his lips, swollen and red after being wrapped around his Dom’s cock to his eyes, glazed from being blissed out on his own high after making his Dom come so hard.

“I would start a war for you, my Sub,” Coulson whispered softly as he pulled him close for a kiss. It was slow and tender but as Clint opened up to him, his lips parting his tongue flicking against his Dom’s, it became more heated. Their lips bruising against each other, teeth and tongues nipping and licking until Coulson dipped his head to the muscle of his Sub’s shoulder grazing it with his teeth and sucking a mark, his mark, into it.

Clint whined with need. He desperately wanted to feel his Dom’s bare skin and fumbled with the remaining buttons of his shirt until it was undone completely. He slid his hands over the line of fine hair on his Dom’s stomach up to the wiry spread across his chest his blunt nails raking the skin below.

Coulson growled and raised his head, slanting his mouth over Clint’s again kissing him hard and possessively. Clint made a desperate keening sound, taking delight in the feel and the smell of his Dom; his rough hands trailing over his body, his tongue plundering his mouth, his unique scent that Clint could never describe but could always recognise with its lingering trace of his expensive cologne.

“Do you want to come?” Coulson panted against his Sub’s lips.

“Please,” Clint breathed.

All too aware of what had occurred earlier with Whitehall, Coulson didn’t want to put his hand on Clint without his permission and so he asked, “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Please, Sir,” his Sub repeated urgently and took hold of his Dom’s hand wrapping his fingers around his shaft. The first caress of his Dom’s calloused palm against the burning skin of his cock make the Sub moan and shiver. As Coulson continued to slide his hand from root to tip, rubbing his thumb across the leaking slit, Clint dropped his head on to the other man’s shoulder, pressing his brow into the muscle. It didn’t take long, maybe half a dozen more strokes before his body tensed signalling his nearness.

“Come,” Coulson growled.

Given the command, Clint cried out gripping tight to his Dom’s forearms as he came long and hard splashing over Coulson’s hand and up his own stomach. His body juddered and shook and his Dom wrapped an arm round him holding him close.

“Such a good boy for me,” he murmured into his Sub’s hair kissing him gently. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Clint let out a half-sob and nuzzled into the curve of his Dom’s neck. After keeping him tight against his body for a few moments, Coulson turned him around and gently guided him onto the bed pushing the cover to the side. Clint frowned as his Dom pulled away.

“I’ll be right back,” Coulson assured him pulling off his shirt which in turn pulled a squeak from Clint as he caught sight of his Dom's hip dents not to mention that gorgeous expanse of broad, hairy chest.

With a satisfied smirk Coulson stripped out of his briefs and suit pants collecting them to drop them on his chair as he headed for the bathroom for a damp cloth. On his return he snagged a bottle of gatorade from the nightstand, twisting the lid off it with a snap giving it to Clint to drink while he wiped the sticky traces of come from his Sub’s belly.

When he was finished, Coulson took the bottle and instructed Clint to lie on his stomach as he gently applied some arnica cream to the bruising across his shoulders and arms. As always, he scrutinised each injury to make sure there was nothing that required medical attention in addition to that given by the medic. Other than other than a small neat row of stitches where the tracker had been cut out, bruising, abrasions and pulled muscles were by far the worst he’d received so Coulson took his time rubbing the cream in, smiling occasionally at the breathy sounds his Sub would make now and again.

“You’re making me hard again, Sir,” Clint told him in a slurred voice.

“I could say the same,” Coulson countered. Clint snorted out a laugh which Coulson was happy about. Clint had never been a needy Sub on the contrary he was a smart assed masochist but the events just prior to his rescue had left him more vulnerable than Coulson had seen him for a long time and he wanted to do everything he could to make his Sub feel safe again.

“How do you feel?” he asked gently rubbing the last of the cream into his skin.

“M good, Sir. It feels better.” he murmured pushing up onto his elbows with his hands clasped and his head bowed rolling the muscles of his shoulders as he tested their tightness. Inadvertently (or not) the movement and subconscious submissive posture caused his Dom’s pupils to dilate and his cock to stir again. Fuck but Clint’s shoulders and arms were a work of art and his positioning...Coulson couldn’t stop the growl that escaped his lips.

He leaned over so that his mouth brushed against Clint’s ear and whispered in a low voice, “Good. I want you to feel better when I fuck you inside out tomorrow.”

He smirked as Clint’s breath hitched in his throat and he turned his head to face his Dom, the black of his eyes expanding rapidly to dominate the blue/green. “Ah, no fair, Sir.” he whined. “You can’t say something like that and not follow through.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated and cruelly Coulson pulled the sheet up to cover his Sub’s ass. Not that he wasn’t enjoying the view but they both required some much needed sleep. Although perhaps a gesture of good faith wouldn’t go amiss and he reached under the sheet to stroke his hand over Clint’s beautifully sculptured buttock giving it a firm squeeze before sliding his hand over his thigh, dragging his nails lightly over the skin before settling himself against the prone body of his quivering Sub.

After a moment, when the spasms quietened Clint muttered, "Sometimes, my Dom, you can be such a fucking tease."

Coulson draped his arm around his Sub's waist and echoed Natasha's words from earlier, "Just how you love me. Now shut up, brat, and sleep."

Clint turned and snuggled into his Dom’s chest, letting out a deep sigh of content as Coulson wrapped his arms round him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath inhaling as much of Coulson’s scent as he could feeling grounded and safe.

"Yes, my Dom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the last chapter but then again, there is always tomorrow...

**Author's Note:**

> Although Coulson refers to Clint as “his property” he uses it simply because it’s a term that Whitehall and Backshi will understand not because he believes it. Clint belongs to Coulson because he wishes it. 
> 
> The change between dom/Dom and sub/Sub is deliberate and is used to differentiate between the two pairs; Clint, a Sub who is cherished by his Dom, Coulson, to whom he is devoted and Backshi, a mistreated sub who remains loyal to his abusive dom, Whitehall.
> 
> The description for Coulson when he meets Backshi in the bar comes from a gorgeous piece of artwork created by chaosndisaster on tumblr which I seriously can’t get enough of. It's not related to this work in anyway (sadly).
> 
> The characters are not mine. I merely borrowed them from Marvel/ABC/Disney/Netflix. This fanfic, however, is mine and it may only be published here on Archive of Our Own or on my tumblr blog under the same name. I don't make any money out of it and I post specifically on these two sites this so that people may read it for free.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated and I would love for you to leave comments and/or constructive criticism.


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